LETTERS TO W - Spideypool
by ThanksIllPass
Summary: spideypool coffee shop AU (pre-slash)


Peter wasn't exactly planning on having his very own favorite regular customer, okay? He just happened. He happened and made Peter question his taste in friends. Not that they were friends, but he was as close to a friend as Peter had; after all, he only moved here a few months ago. Don't get him wrong, his boss was great, though a little reserved, but her face reminded Peter too much of Gwen. And Peter wasn't ready for that. He moved away for a _reason_.

Peter's favorite regular was… unusual, to say the least. He'd started coming to the coffee shop a month after Peter started working there, and Peter didn't know much about him. He did know enough to know he liked him though. His name was Wade. He was a Canadian writer of some sort who liked Mexican food and Bea Arthur maybe a little bit too much. His sense of humor wasn't for everyone but Peter appreciated it just fine. His voice was deep and raspy and Peter liked it very much.

Peter had never seen his face though. Wade never took the hood of his jacket off his head and his face was always covered by sunglasses and a red scarf. Peter didn't think too much of it – it was winter after all. Their usual routine consisted of Wade walking straight up to Peter and asking if they had pancake flavored coffee yet. After Peter solemnly apologized for his boss' blatant incompetence, Wade would order a coffee with maple syrup (Peter's not even joking), crack some lame joke and leave.

Sometimes he would compliment Peter's hair or his coffee-brewing skills. On Mondays he would asks about Peter's weekend. A few times on a Friday he would stay a while longer to tell Peter about the plans for his. They were ludicrous every time and it amused Peter. Who wouldn't laugh when a guy who drank his coffee with maple syrup had told them he planned on becoming a pirate or a yakuza? Peter would always wish him luck anyway; Wade would obviously need it.

But what Peter liked the most was that Wade never asked him any uncomfortable questions. Well, at least not the "so what brings you here" kind of uncomfortable, which Peter hated the most. It's natural to resent a question you don't know the answer to. So Peter appreciated that Wade seemed to respect his privacy. Or at least it's part. A small part. A very tiny bit of it. Because Wade asked _a lot_ of other kind of uncomfortable questions. He would even reward himself with a cookie from the counter jar whenever he managed to get Peter to blush.

That's how Peter's winter went by, so all things considered, it wasn't half bad. But hr had to admit he was quite excited on the first day of spring. It was sunny and warm, everything seemed louder. Livelier. Besides, he figured he would finally get to see Wade's face. But he definitely wasn't ready to analyze why the thought filled with him anticipation. When he heard the familiar bell ring, he smiled and lifted his head.

He could feel the smile slip from his face as soon as he looked at Wade. The only difference was that he was wearing a hoodie instead of a jacket. Peter blinked slowly as Wade approached him.

"Aren't you hot today?" he blurted before Wade could even ask about pancakes flavored coffee. Wade's shoulders stiffened momentarily, but he shrugged and leaned on the counter.

"Why thank you, Petey, you don't look too bad yourself!"

Peter could see Wade's lips twisting into a smirk under his scarf so he only sighed, smiled lopsidedly, and turned around to make Wade's coffee. Peter had no right to ask, not when Wade never asked _him_. It worked both ways, and Peter couldn't expect anyone just to start_sharing_. Not when he never told anyone anything about himself. Wade came back the next day, and nothing seemed to had changed. Peter was glad.

But it _bothered_ him. It bothered him every day for a week. He wanted to know. He wanted to ask. He wanted Wade to tell him. He wanted-

"You never asked me how I got here," he muttered awkwardly one day as he slid the cup over the counter.

"It's not really my business, is it?" Wade asked, cheerful as ever, still managing to sound more respectful than uncaring. Peter only nodded jerkily. Wade thanked him for the coffee and left.

He didn't come back the next day. Instead of him came a chubby guy in glasses with a spooked expression and twitchy movements. He stuttered Wade's usual order and left the exact same tip as Wade always did. Peter couldn't ignore the worried knot in his stomach any longer after a week of this. But the guy, Bob, said everything was fine, that Wade was just busy and that he didn't leave his studio too often during spring-summer season. Work, he said.

The following couple of weeks were harder on Peter than he could ever expect. He _missed_Wade. At some point, when they were closing the shop in their usual comfortable silence, his boss had told him to stop moping or find another job. Peter apologized and, before he knew it, he was telling her about Wade. That was the first time Peter voluntarily said_anything_ about himself to another person since he moved here. It felt… nice, actually.

His boss only hummed thoughtfully and patted his cheek half-patronizingly, half-affectionately. So _much_ like Gwen. But Peter had already known that. The surprising part was that the association didn't cause him pain, not anymore. Thinking about Gwen now only felt… nostalgic. Peter couldn't help but smile. His boss cleared her throat and stepped back, cool and unattainable again, saying that the only thing Peter could do to keep his job was to talk to Wade, and fast.

The only problem was _how_. The mountain didn't want to come to Muhammad! He didn't have Wade's address or a phone number or where he worked. He didn't even know his last name. And Bob would probably faint if Peter asked a question he wasn't told to expect. But Peter had and idea and a sharpie. He started out small, scribbling a simple "Missed you this month ;)" on the cup. From then on, each day he would write something on Wade's coffee cup.

He would say that he hoped Wade's work was going well, that he missed his jokes, that Peter got a raise, that he expected Wade to take good care of himself, that he missed his voice. Then, he started talking about himself. He said he was from Forest Hills, that he used to be a freelance photographer, that he once wanted to be a science teacher, that he used to be bullied in school. He would talk about his favorite things and about his friends back home. There was something to write on the cup every single day.

Weeks passed by slowly, peacefully. Peter didn't feel vulnerable, he felt good. Light. He felt like this was a good idea, moving here. And this thing with Wade had helped him to open up. He finally felt ready. He told Wade that his parents had died in plane crash when he was six. That his uncle and aunt had raised him. He told Wade that his uncle had been killed when he was sixteen. That he missed his aunt on Sundays the most. He told him that his girlfriend had passed away over a year ago. And there was nothing left to say after that, was there?

So Peter started over. He would remind Wade that he missed him every now and then, and to stop by whenever Wade had some time. Then, he started asking about Wade. He didn't expect any answer, he just wanted Wade to know that Peter _cared_. That he cared about his work and about his plans and about his friends and his family. Because he did, quite unsurprisingly, to be honest. Wade had been the only person who didn't give up on trying to reach Peter after the initial failure; even his boss simply ignored him most of the time. How could Peter not appreciate it?

But it wasn't just that. He wasn't just grateful for the attention he didn't even want in the first place. He _liked_ Wade. A lot. He remembered every time Wade had made him laugh with his terrible jokes and even worse innuendos. He remembered how he enjoyed listening to Wade talking excitedly about his next planned adventure. He remembered how hot his cheeks would get whenever Wade leaned closer and dropped his voice. He _missed_Wade. He wanted to see him again. Even in that ridiculous scarf of his.

That's why, on one excruciatingly hot day, Peter decided to put all his eggs in one basket, or rather in one disposable cup. He wrote "Would you want to go out on a date?" and patiently waited for Bob to come take Wade's coffee. He smiled sweetly at him as he passed him the cup and rested his chin on his folded hands. As soon as Bob left, glancing at him nervously, Peter's elbows, as well as his confidence, gave out. He laid there, sprawled pathetically on the counter for good fifteen minutes, when the door to the shop burst open.

Peter groaned and got up. And then he froze completely, because right before him, stood Wade. There he was, just like that, in ugly boxers and old Spider-Man bathrobe, holding Peter's now empty coffee cup, panting. His socks had holes in them, just like his skin. Wade's entire body was covered in scars, his legs and chest, his hands and face. Peter swallowed, his throat was dry. So that's why-

"What do you think you're doing?" Wade rasped, gasping for breath. He looked confused and vulnerable. His eyes – the bluest Peter had ever seen, not even Gwen had eyes that blue – were filled with distrust and something akin to curiosity at the same time. "What do you think you were doing for the past two months, Peter?"

Wade sounded so broken that Peter could barely stand straight. He wanted to reach out and… do _something_. But he couldn't move; he was glued to his place behind the counter, gaping at Wade pitifully. He didn't think this through at all, did he? He hadn't expect Wade to just barge in and _ask_. He didn't have the answer for this question. Wade must have had mistaken Peter's silence as shock, or disgust even, because he suddenly looked down at himself and cringed, turning around to leave.

"Wait!" Peter heard himself shout. Thank God at least some parts of his body worked, because his brain apparently didn't. One second and he would lose Wade all over again, forever perhaps this time. And he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't exactly say why, he couldn't rationalize this feeling, but he _knew_. He knew he couldn't let Wade leave. He swallowed again. "So what about that date?"

Wade stopped mid-step and turned around very slowly. When he looked at Peter, his whole face expressed so many emotions that Peter's chest hurt. Wade was looking at Peter with uncertainty and hope and fear and _want_. Peter smiled sheepishly and chuckled nervously, dropping his eyes to his hands, suddenly _embarrassed_. Wow, he was really bad at this.

"Well?" Peter finally whispered, looking at Wade expectantly. Wade blinked, shocked. Peter suspected he wasn't exactly used to this kind of reaction. Wade cleared his throat took a deep breath.

"Yeah, uh. Sure, just let me… put some pants on…" Peter saw Wade slapping his forehead and muttering something to himself, and he couldn't help but laugh happily. Wade still looked embarrassed, but his lips started to form a shy smile. Peter liked it very much.

"Great," Peter said. Wade nodded, dazed, and turned around again, walking straight into the door. Peter laughed, but Wade didn't hear him. Peter had never seen anyone without shoes run that fast.


End file.
